


Color of My Blood

by apostated



Series: Stolen Moments (Canon/AU) [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Multi, Other, Romance, Self-Doubt, i'm stuck in dragon age hell, maybe if we deny the whole fade thing ever happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3812461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostated/pseuds/apostated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Keeper's duty was to remember, to keep their dying culture from snuffing out entirely, to lead and remember the old ways.  That had been Anwyn's fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> There's a bit of fighting in this chapter and the next. Happy reading!

“You are late again, _da’len,_ ” Keeper Deshanna’s voice was disapproving, her eyes stern.  It was a look that Anwyn had grown used to, despite how odd it looked on Deshanna’s face.  She was always the cause of some sort of disapproval.

“ _Ir abelas_ , _hahren,_ ” Anwyn mumbled, casting her gaze down to look at the grass beneath her bare feet.  She could never look someone in the eye when she felt guilty.  Bold as she was in all other things, she could not stand the sight of disappointment in another’s eyes at her expense.  And she was not a good enough liar to falsify bravery in the face of her own mistakes.  She was meant to be strong, meant to be a leader, and disappointment meant failure, at least to Anwyn.  But the lure of the forest was always too strong, with the sound of its running rivers and chirruping birds and the lullaby of the trees, lulling her into a peacefulness she did not feel in the Dalish camp.  She could never resist.  She was solitary, even for one of her kind, preferring the company of trees to her fellow kin; the forest took away the prying eyes, the whispers behind hands, the fear of something that the other elves did not understand.  It was quiet.  She could dream there, or recall the stories of her people. But most importantly, when she was in the forest, she was no longer a First.  She was simply Anwyn.  And Simply Anwyn did not have the weight of a dying culture on her shoulders that she was, by tradition, destined to aid whether she wanted to or not.  

“As well you should be,” Deshanna sighed.  “I had begun to worry, _lethallan._ It is not good for you to disappear for so long.  Even the hunters did not catch sight of you this time.   Creators, child — you are the First to this clan.  Your duty is here, learning your craft, honing your magic, not frolicking in the trees with the halla.  Are you a halla? No, you are an elf.  You could become injured, and how would anyone know?”

Deshanna continued on, her seemingly unending patience faltering in the face of Anwyn’s tardiness.  The lecture was an old one.  Though the Dalish had no true home save for wandering the wilds away from the _shems_ , Deshanna wanted to keep her within the clan, never too far away from herself or her duty as the First.  But it was confining.  Perhaps Anwyn was _too_ Dalish — with her restless wanderlust and her self-induced isolationism — but there was no changing her nature.  And how could she even hope to be a good Keeper if she knew so little of the world beyond stories?  She had never been outside the Free Marches, but she yearned to feel the hot sands of the Approach on the soles of her feet, to explore the hills and mountains of Ferelden, even to meander aimlessly along the paved pathways of Orlais.  So many textures and smells and sights and experiences and adventures and so much _knowledge_ to be had…

But that was not a Keeper’s duty.  A Keeper’s duty was to remember the old ways and to keep the slowing heartbeat of Dalish culture from stilling completely in her own small way.  It was almost enough to make her weep.

* * *

The air was still and almost muggy as she reclined against one of the statues of Fen’Harel at the farthest edge of their encampment, staring up at the light grey clouds that had crept in that afternoon.  Her lesson with Deshanna had _not_ gone well.  Her Keeper remained irritated with her throughout the day, scolding her for even the smallest mistakes.

_“_ Fenedhis _, Anwyn,_ concentrate _.  If you cannot keep your mind focused, especially when you dream, you open up all sorts of opportunities for error and, yes, demons.  By the Dread Wolf, we are getting nowhere.  Practice your fadestep on your own, then.  We shall attempt to resume tomorrow if you can be troubled enough to be on time.”_

Even the memory of it left a bitter taste in her mouth.  It was a rarity that Deshanna’s frustration with her lasted more than the length of her initial tirade; it always faded into reluctant acceptance and eventual forgiveness.  Today, though, the Keeper had been in a right mood.  She plucked a dandelion from the ground beside her staff and twirled it between her fingers, watching as the seeds sped off in the wind.  If only she could float away so easily.  A sigh escaped her as she looked up at the snarling mouth carved above her head and she gave Fen’Harel’s visage a sarcastic smile.  

“Maybe you _should_ catch my scent.  Then, at least, I would have an excuse to run,” she told the stone likeness before laying down in the grass and closing her eyes.  A foul thing to wish, she mused, and certainly another lecture from Deshanna and the clan’s elders were she overheard. 

It wasn’t long before she drifted off to a light sleep.  She wasn’t sure what had forced her awake until she felt the hair rise on her arms and the back of her neck. The flashes of electricity and fire in the trees just meters away was undeniable in the darkness.   _A storm._ But…

Anwyn inhaled, suddenly _very_ alert, reaching for her staff and throwing up a barrier around herself in instinct.  That was no storm.  The air didn’t smell right and the clashes she heard were the sounds of clanging metal and the undeniable sound of spells being cast.   _Magic.  Not thunder._

There was fighting in the forest.  But there couldn’t be.  Her clan were the only people nearby, and the mage-templar fighting hadn’t spread this far.  Not yet.  She felt her blood run cold at the realization.  The Mage Rebellion.  Thus far, it had not affected them, not when they kept outside the cities and in the wilderness away from humans.  There was tension when it came to trading for their much-needed goods on city outskirts, but the war had not yet found its way to her clan.  Not until now.  She was on her feet in milliseconds as magic flowed through her, prepared to fight, defend, or flee.

A misaimed fireball missed her by inches. She drew on her mana to put up another barrier, trying to ignore the frantic beating of her heart.

_Run._

Barely a second passed before her legs complied, feet flying over the stones and twigs and grass, the sounds of the fighting growing louder as the templars behind her battled mages.  A blessing, at least, that she had not been noticed.  She thought she caught a glimpse of shades before their shrieks echoed in her ears, fueling her panic.  The thought drove her onward, legs pumping as she covered the outskirts of the clearing they had made their temporary home.

_Fadestep_.  Anwyn inhaled, drawing on the Fade and her own willpower to push herself forward at alarming speed, entering the camp just as Deshanna emerged from beside one of the aravels, her eyes frantic.

“I have put up wards but I don’t know how long they will last,” the Keeper told her, as her hands crackled with more magic to strengthen them.  “All this rampant energy…they could be easily shattered by either templar or mage.  We could fight them, but it would be dangerous. Some of the hunting scouts went out just before dusk and they have not returned.  I feared that you had gone into the forest with them…”

“No, no, I was resting in the shadow of — never mind.  That’s not important.  Shades.  The mages have shades,” she panted, fighting the urge to lean against the land ship to catch her breath. 

Fire illuminated the fearful eyes of her Keeper as another blast of magic lit up the night.  Anwyn meshed her aura with Deshanna’s, lending her the strength to reinforce their wards.  They needed to flee or to fight.  The halla were going mad, tossing their antlered heads and pawing the ground, black eyes reflecting their fear.   

Anwyn knew the price if she and Deshanna were caught.  All mages were apostates in light of the fallen Circle.  But they were worse even than that, Dalish who had no Circle training whatsoever.  They had not passed a Harrowing.  

To stay was to die.


	2. Too Close to the Flame.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Josa, da’lan! Josa lavis Fen’Harel em nar odhe!” 
> 
> She did not need telling twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s some violence and death (no major characters though) in this chapter, so if that sort of thing squicks you out, you have advance warning <3 As always, all Elvhen is taken from either the Dragon Age wiki or from the wonderful fenxshiral. Translations for any fully Elvhen phrases that don't fall under "common knowledge" will be at the end of the chapter :) Happy reading x

Flashes of light reflecting in the Keeper’s eyes caused Anwyn to look back, a wall of fire erupting between two shadowy figures in the night, illuminating one’s armor and the trees surrounding them.  The shrieking of shades and abominations filled her ears and froze her blood.  They were caught between the crosshairs, templars and mages tearing at each other in the forest, their fighting drawing closer and closer to where the elves were frantically trying to tear up camp.  Several of them were within close enough range that Anwyn could have electrified them, ending their assault.  But it would draw their attention and she knew enough of battles between her people and the _shemlen_ that to do so would mean more bloodshed than they were prepared for.  They already had lost some of their hunters.  Anwyn could not stand the thought of more of her people dying.  She put all of her energy into enforcing the barrier enclosing the camp.  She could feel how weak her mana had become, and should the templars or other mages turn their attacks on them, she knew she would not have regenerated enough energy in time to fight. They needed to focus on keeping themselves safe, long enough to load the _aravels_ and harness the halla to make their escape.

Deshanna’s eyes were as frantic as Anwyn’s thrumming heart, and as her Keeper turned to shout orders at her clansmen and women, Anwyn tried to swallow her fear.   _A Keeper’s duty is to remember and to lead._ She had to be brave in spite of the panic and anxiety that riddled her; she had to _lead_.  There was little her magic could do to aid in speeding up the process of camp, and so she sprinted from one _aravel_ to the next, aiding those who struggled with crates of supplies to get things moving and with harnessing the frantic halla, while Deshanna and the Halla Keeper,  Bryn, insured that they would not bolt and take their only means of escape with them.

“Get ready to flee,” the Keeper told the elves who were beginning to load the children and elderly into the land ships.

A fireball shattered their wards.  

The sound was like something out of a nightmare and it stunned Anwyn to stillness; it blasted two of their archers who had taken their stand near Fen’Harel off of their feet, throwing them back into the camp, only yards away.  She could feel the collision of the energy in her _bones,_ even from the distance she was from the point of impact; it reverberated in every cell in her body and she found her ears were ringing.  It was as if every fibre of her being would tear apart from the force of it, dissolving into nothingness just as sure and as fast as their wards had done.  Stunned, she swayed momentarily before shaking her head.  ‘ _Revive them_ ,’ her thoughts pushed as she stared at the bodies of her lifeless clansmen in front of her.  But she did not have enough mana and templars were breaking past their statues of Fen’Harel and they had no time.    


From the distorted angle of their bodies, they had died on impact, and while her spells of revival could bring someone back into the realm of the living, once their spirits had departed their bodies, they were beyond hope.  She moved forward as if she were in a trance; it was as though she couldn't stop herself, as though she had to at least _try_ to bring them back.  She couldn’t just leave them there.  She was their First.

The world had become chaos.  She hadn't noticed just how many screams permeated the air around them when they were safe behind the barrier, its magic muffling the sounds of the fighting, but now that it was shattered and her ears had stopped ringing, they filled the night. Anwyn’s focus on the dead men ahead of her broke and she stopped in her tracks, the cacophony of battle turning her to stone with fear.  Shouts of spells and taunts mingled with the sounds of injured and dying and energy reverberating off of steel plate.  It was strange how her legs had worked so easily earlier but now she seemed rooted in place.  The force and surprise of the collision had driven the halla mad, and one of the wagons took off suddenly, knocking a child off of his feet as it sped away.  Bryn turned back to them, yelling over the din.

“ _Hahren,_ if we don’t leave now, we will never get the chance!  I can’t soothe them when they are this panicked; no-one can control them for long!” he cried.  

“If the _aravels_ leave without us, _lethallan_ , we will _die._  Anwyn, we must go!”

She hadn’t heard her Keeper approach, but her eyes remained trained on the bodies of her kin as her mind refused to process her words.  She could not leave them.  They had to be buried the proper way, not left in the open air as though they were no-one.  As though they were not Dalish.  If she left them, how could their souls be at rest?

“Anwyn!” her Keeper’s shout was right in her ear and Deshanna’s fingers closed around Anwyn’s arm, dragging her in the direction of their wagons as a templar broke the ranks of the incoming tide and gained distance on them.  The sudden motion jogged her back to her senses.  She pulled away from Deshanna and turned back to their pursuer, summoning enough mana to freeze him where he stood.  “ _Josa, da’lan! Josa lavis Fen’Harel em nar odhe!*_ ”  

She did not need telling twice.  Deshanna and Anwyn sprinted closer to the inner confines of the camp as their attackers drew nearer, arrows from their archers firing over their heads.  Her heartbeat hammered inside of her ears and her side ached from exertion — both physical and magical; she could feel her body protesting and her muscles beginning to seize up as they reached the last _aravel_ that waited for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1: Move girl! Move as if the Dread Wolf holds your scent! [translation courtesy of fenxshiral and Project Elvhen]
> 
> My apologies for the short chapter; I felt the cut made more sense than trying to lob it all together. Thank you for the kudos (they made me smile!) and thank you for reading! Chapter Three should be up sometime later on this week!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I'll be updating next week after a long weekend full of writing. :) Ma serannas, to you for reading, and my friends, who previewed and helped me to edit this. You guys are awesome!!


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